


That I could dream again...

by nauticaas



Series: My Name is Sea [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticaas/pseuds/nauticaas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long-time fugitive of the law reflects on her choices the night before her arrest. Frobin, Water 7. (Major liberties with chapter 339 and surrounding chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That I could dream again...

**Author's Note:**

> That Frobin: “Please come get me.” prompt. (Keep in mind that I’ve never written for this ship, I took major liberties with canon, and I am sleep deprived)

She only spoke Ohari in dreams now, and the last time she dreamed was between that last precious evening in Skypiea and the events on Long Ring Long Island. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how fluent her mother tongue was anymore, twenty years out of practice and with no surviving text or living human to reflect it back at her. However, when he stepped through the door of Blueno’s that night, spouting loud proclamations of his intent to stock up on cola and “super-ness”, one of those half-forgotten words slipped out, just under her breath.

It meant “someone who draws attention for obnoxious and unappealing reasons”, as far as her memory could supply. The connotation it implied was that this person, while not outright proud of their behavior, was unapologetic for it. She was unsure of whether or not this was entirely negative, but he quickly threw back his drinks and settled down (not without an embarrassing display before the whole bar), and she was able to return to her deep red, melancholic.

Her gaze, willful and drifting, kept coming back to him: drink after drink, song after song, heartbeat after heartbeat. She chalked it up to his disorderly conduct, his emphatic gestures, that rough, boisterous voice. But when something said in the bartender’s monotone earned itself a gleaming smirk and his unabashed laughter, she found herself suppressing a smile, however small and delicate. His behavior was devil-may-care now, intriguing; in his eyes there was shrewdness instead of stupidity. He was more aware of his surroundings than he first appeared to be.

His gaze crossed paths with hers, and he grinned.   _Definitely too aware._

She let her gaze flit away, lashes lowered,  _I’m not interested_  written across her body like a book. Her heart was pounding out a different answer; she was afraid that he would hear it.

That he had somehow become a prospect (an enticing one, at that) was not the biggest surprise, nor was any part of him a reason to leave him. First impressions weren’t always accurate; there was a phrase in Ohari for that, too.

It was that she was alone and hollow tonight, a last evening of sorts, and that she didn’t know why she didn’t call him when her body was cold from lack of affection and touch. She had been starved for most of her life, tumbling along the empty seas as empty as she felt tonight, but it had never bothered her until now. Where the blame lay, her crew…

It wasn’t fair to them, no. The time that she had spent with them was a tiny blip on the gray landscape of her life, and that she had already forgotten how to be alone was her own fault. Well, that wouldn’t be one of her worries anymore, she thought, staring bitterly at Blueno’s back as he filled orders like that was the only obligation he had in this world. Not after tonight.

He wouldn’t have to know any of that. None of them ever did. Maybe he came with his own troubles and worries, insurmountable and fearsome, and she would be none the wiser. Maybe they were both hurting…but that wasn’t what this was about.

This was about something more powerful than that, it was about  _need_.

She caught her teardrops all up before they could fall and fixed a shameless, beckoning look on him from across the bar.  _Please come get me._

The confidence in his stride, his stance, his face, all left her dry-mouthed and taut with anticipation. There was something boyish and comfortable about the quirk of his mouth and the light in his eyes, and she loved and hated it both. How sweet this meeting was, and how bitter, like the taste of sugar on his lips as they met her wine-drenched mouth. Somehow, it fit the nature of the night around them.

And still, she could think of only last thing before she let all rational thought fly free:  _I could almost dream Ohari again, one more night._


End file.
